Don Giovanni
by cheshirecat101
Summary: Eames cheats on Arthur and pays the ultimate price for it. But then Eames comes back...different. Eames/Arthur, dark!fic, M for violence, language, and later content.
1. Lazarus Rising

Arthur didn't know he was going to kill Eames when he first found out he was cheating on him.

He should have known, since the first thought that ran through his head was, _I'm going to kill him_, but he was too shocked to actually mean it. Nevertheless, on Monday night he was there, burying Eames under the dark soil. 

Arthur woke up alone on Monday morning, the first sign that something was wrong. Eames was almost always there when he woke up, and Eames had been there the night before. It was a routine that they'd developed—maintain professional distance in the day, have dinner and spend the night together, then wake up together the next morning. But Eames wasn't there.

Arthur got up, running a hand through his hair to smooth it down. It was a nervous tic that showed along with his neurotic side, and Eames always made that side come out. But then again, he made certain other sides of Eames come out.

Arthur got dressed, fixing his waistcoat, hair, and tie a dozen times in the same nervous rhythm; waistcoat, tie, hair, waistcoat, tie, hair, waistcoat, tie, hair, waistcoat—

"Hello darling."

Arthur relaxed as Eames purred in his ear, his arms wrapping around Arthur from behind, holding his hands so Arthur was forced to stop his nervous adjustments. He leaned his head back against Eames's shoulder and closed his eyes. "I was about to send out a search party."

Eames smiled. "You worry too much."

"Where were you?" Arthur asked lazily, content against Eames.

Eames pulled away from him and walked back into the bedroom. "A business associate of mine called early and needed my assistance," he called to Arthur as he went into the closet in the bedroom. Arthur turned and saw that Eames was wearing an elegant three piece suit in white and black with a pinstriped shirt and complete with diamond cufflinks that Arthur didn't recognize.

"I didn't wake up," Arthur said, his brow furrowed. He was an extremely light sleeper.

"You were out like a light, darling, I'm not sure how or why," Eames said, starting to quickly get changed. "I tried to be quiet anyway so I wouldn't wake you up."

Arthur frowned. "What did this associate need help with?"

There was a muffled response.

"What?" Arthur asked, coming into the bedroom.

"I said he needed some personal assistance with a personal matter," Eames answered, standing up so he could pull on his pants.

"That's awfully vague of you."

"He'd be rather upset if I told you about the matter."

"Who is this 'business associate'?"

Eames started tucking his shirt—mustard yellow today—into his pants. "Old military friend."

"What military?" Arthur asked, leaning against the doorframe and watching him.

"One of them, why does it matter?" Eames asked, casting a glance at him. "Why all the questions?"

Arthur shook his head and Eames smiled at him. "Oh darling, don't tell me you're jealous?" he said, and Arthur shook his head again.

Eames came over and kissed him, his hands on either side of the other man's face, and Arthur put his hands and Eames's hips and pulled him closer. Eames broke it off reluctantly after a few minutes, looking at Arthur with a strange emotion—what was that?—in his eyes, and then took his hands off of Arthur and smiled distantly.

"Are you alright?" Arthur asked, his brow furrowed. Something was off about him.

"I'm fine, love," Eames replied.

Arthur pressed his skepticism to the back of the mind and ducked his head, starting to do up the buttons on Eames's shirt. "So," he said, "did you manage to help this business associate?"

"I believe my services were satisfactory."

"You 'believe your services were satisfactory'?" Arthur asked, and then laughed.

Eames grinned. "What?"

Arthur gave him a look, unable to stop smiling. "That is the oddest way to phrase that," he said, and Eames snorted.

"That's right, I forgot you were the diction Nazi," he said with a roll of his eyes.

"No, I just ask for clarity in speech," Arthur retorted, finishing the buttons. "Without clarity, the world would be anarchy, chaos, obfuscation."

"What?" Eames asked, brow furrowed.

"Obfuscation?" Arthur asked, giving him a look. He sighed and went back to smoothing the wrinkles in the shirt. "It means confusion, from the verb 'obfuscate'."

"You're so much smarter than me, darling," Eames said, kissing him on the cheek and then going back into the other room to pull on his jacket, instantly creasing the shirt. Arthur suppressed a sigh and followed him, saying, "So where do you want to go for dinner tonight?"

"Oh, I can't tonight, darling," Eames said, looking at Arthur with a look of pained regret.

"Why not?" Arthur asked, his bottom lip getting as close to a pout as he would ever get.

"I have to do a little research on our current mark," Eames replied, going over to Arthur and taking both his hands. "I'll probably be gone for awhile, so don't wait up for me. But I promise, tomorrow night we'll have a nice fancy dinner and I'll bribe you with flowers."

Arthur smiled slightly at this, and Eames smiled back and kissed him quickly before releasing his hands. "I'll see you at work then, dear, we can't arrive at the same time."

"I know," Arthur said as Eames prepared to leave. "I'll see you there."

Then Eames was gone and Arthur set his watch for twenty-five minutes. With Eames gone, Arthur suddenly realized what was off—he didn't smell like his usual cologne.

They'd had this system in place for about a year, ever since Cobb retired and Arthur became the new leader. They still worked the illegitimate side of the business, but were slowly transitioning away from it. Eames was still a forger, Ariadne was the architect, and Yusuf was the chemist when they needed one. Cobb popped back up occasionally, paranoid that they were all going to get stuck in Limbo, or die, or worse without his guidance.

But Arthur was the leader now, and he and Eames kept their relationship a secret because—well, because things were simpler that way. So they arrived at work at different times, acted like they always had, and didn't say a word.

Eames was already there in the warehouse, along with Yusuf, and the two were having an animated conversation about some British television show that Arthur knew Eames watched religiously. He swallowed the smile that rose with this thought and said, "Yusuf! Aren't you supposed to be working on that knew compound?"

Yusuf jumped and said, "Of course, Arthur" and scurried over to his lab table.

"You too, Mr. Eames," Arthur said, and Eames smiled lazily.

"Of course, darling," he said, but slouched back in his chair all the same. Arthur frowned at him and opened his mouth to speak, but at that moment Ariadne rushed in, her cheeks flushed and her breath quick. "Sorry I'm late," she said, giving an apologetic smile to Arthur.

"Sleeping at Cobb's again, were we?" Eames asked with a smile.

She turned red but said, "Cobb and I are friends, Eames. I was there to see James and Phillipa."

"Because they've adopted you as their mother," Yusuf piped up from his corner.

"No, because—nevermind," she said, flustered, and went to her work table.

Eames's teasing grin followed her there, but she refused to look at him, so he instead shared a knowing look with Yusuf.

"Alright, so where is everyone?" Arthur asked.

"Done," Eames said.

"Almost done," Yusuf said, looking up from a vial.

Ariadne put her model on the table. "I need a little help with the layout, Arthur, but this part of the dream is practically finished."

"Are you really done, Eames, or is this like Bangkok where you've just decided to wing it?" Arthur asked, raising his eyebrows.

Eames pointed at him and said, "I still maintain that that job worked out fine."

"We all almost died!" Ariadne exclaimed, giving him a look.

He shrugged. "Your word against mine."

"All of our words against yours, actually," Yusuf corrected.

"Enough of this, let's get back to work," Arthur said, clapping his hands.

The day ticked by like a staggering heart beat, in stops and starts. At the end of the day, Ariadne left, pulling Yusuf along with her with the argument that if he stayed and worked with chemicals for any longer he'd mutate into some kind of sewer monster, leaving Eames and Arthur alone.

Arthur looked at the door to be sure they were alone, and then went over to Eames and rested his head on Eames's shoulder, Eames putting his arms around him.

"How long will you be gone tonight?" It came out muffled.

"Far too late. You know these mysterious businessmen and their exotic night lives."

Arthur heaved a sigh and nuzzled his face into Eames's jacket. Eames smelled like Eames now, and it was the only thing comforting him.

Eames's voice rumbled against Arthur's head as he said, "Don't worry love, we'll be back to normal tomorrow."

"No, it won't be normal again until we're done with this job," Arthur bemoaned.

"Oh hush darling, it will." But Arthur had an unsettling feeling that it wouldn't.

They stayed together for a minute and then Eames broke away from him, kissed him, and said goodbye before hastening out the door.

Arthur went to his work table and clicked open the locks on his briefcase, opening it to begin loading in his numerous papers. This whole day was very strange. He just wanted the job to be over and everything to be back to normal.

He stopped, spying a phone on Eames's desk that he knew was one of Eames's many cell phones for his many aliases. He briskly walked over to it and picked it up, the screen lighting up at his touch. To his surprise, the phone didn't require a password to unlock it, unlike most of Eames's phones. Although this one was new, so maybe it just hadn't been programmed yet. Arthur unlocked it to find the one new message screen. He frowned slightly; it wasn't like Eames to leave his phone, especially unlocked, and especially if it was actually in use. He opened the message and read: "Hey sugar, last night was great, can't wait to see you again tonight. ;) xoxo".

Arthur stared numbly at the phone, his hand shaking slightly, as his shattered mind struggled to piece what it was seeing into a coherent form. Finally, one thought battled its way to the surface: _I'm going to kill him_.

He threw the phone across the room, shattering it on a cement pillar. He stormed back to his desk, slammed his briefcase shut, and rushed out with it. His car keys were in his hand and before he knew it he was driving and he didn't know where the fuck he was going.

He didn't remember finding Eames. He didn't remember what happened to the blonde tart with Eames. He didn't remember how they ended up where they were, in a clearing in the woods at the edge of the city in twilight.

"Darling, please, control yourself," Eames begged for what seemed like the hundredth time.

"How could I be such an idiot?" Arthur shouted, tears in his eyes. "Leaving in the middle of the night, coming home in the morning in dinner clothes and diamond cufflinks, smelling like someone else's cologne, lies about where you'd been, just—" He threw his hands up, words too difficult for him. "I can't believe I couldn't see you were cheating on me! How long has this been going on for?"

"A few weeks," Eames said, not bothering to deny it. So fucking calm in the face of accusation! "At least, this one has. There have been other times in other cities."

Arthur stared at him, his mouth slightly open. "How many others?"

Eames shrugged.

"How could you do this to me?" Arthur asked, his face crumpled into an expression of sheer anguish. "You said you loved me!"

Eames scoffed. "I exaggerated," he said, and then added with an apologetic smile, "Look Arthur, it was fun while it lasted but I don't really think we can go anywhere from here. You know my appetites darling—" here Arthur shuddered involuntarily "—and they can't be satisfied by one man. Not without consequences. You know that."

Arthur stayed silent, his fists clenched like a child having a temper tantrum. Only this was so much more serious.

"So unless you want to keep things the way they are, I guess we're through," Eames said. He offered a smile and turned to leave.

Arthur felt the rising tide of emotion threatening to swallow him in a rush of black anger and red, red violence, and before he could take control his vision was black, he was picking up the nearest object, and then he threw a rock at Eames.

It struck him in the head and he fell forward, blood leaking from the new wound.

Arthur stopped, trembling. What had he done? He'd killed the man he loved in a fit of jealous rage and now…Oh, now he had to be buried. Arthur pressed his hand to his mouth and then fixed his tie, not knowing what else to do. He wasn't dead, he couldn't be dead, he couldn't have been killed by Arthur, he couldn't—

"No no no no no," Arthur mumbled numbly, falling to his knees. He crawled to Eames, turning the man onto his back. Eames's eyes were closed and Arthur said, louder this time, "No no no no no, Eames, please, no, I'm sorry damnit I'm sorry!" He hunched over Eames's chest, crying.

After about ten minutes, he straightened up, his tears fading to hiccupping sobs. Why was he crying about this? Eames was a lying, cheating bastard. Maybe bastard was harsh. No, it wasn't! He'd lied, cheated, hurt Arthur, and claimed he loved him. Bastard wasn't extreme; he was a bastard.

Arthur's blood cooled and he wiped off his tears. He got to his feet and went to his car, coming back in a half hour with a plastic tarp, bungee cords, and a shovel. He carefully wrapped Eames's body up in the tarp and secured it with the cords, then began to dig. The soil wasn't particularly firm, but it was tenacious and kept sliding back into the hole. It took him forever to make even a little headway, and it was hours into midnight before the grave was halfway dug.

Arthur stopped for a minute, panting. His long discarded shirt, vest, and tie lay by the opening to the grave, crumpled and covered in the black dirt. Suddenly he heard the subtle sound of plastic moving. He turned to see the chilling site of the plastic tarp moving slightly, shifting from side to side. Eames was still alive.

Arthur began to laugh to himself and went back to his digging, still laughing. He finished quickly, just as it began to rain, and heaved himself over to Eames.

"Goodbye, Eames," he said to the wriggling body in the tarp, and then dragged the body into the grave. He started laughing again as he covered it; the whole thing was so very, very funny. And the sight of Eames being buried alive by Arthur's own hands only made him laugh harder.

Somehow Arthur made it back to his hotel room through the drizzling rain, his clothes dirty and ruined. He showered and scrubbed himself for at least an hour before the black dirt he'd buried Eames in came off. He crawled into bed, exhausted, and closed his weary eyes, only to see Eames smiling at him again. He rolled over with a groan and dug his face into the pillow that still smelled like Eames. So this would be difficult to get over, an understatement. But still, good riddance.

Arthur killed Eames on a Monday.

He buried Eames on a Tuesday morning.

On Friday, Eames came back.

Arthur heard scratching at the door of his hotel room door on Friday evening and answered it with caution and a gun behind his back. The peephole was empty and he frowned, but opened the door anyway. And there was Eames, lounging in the doorway with a smile and dirt-stained clothing. Arthur stared at him, his brain going into shock.

Eames smirked. "Hello darling."


	2. All For You

**AN: Just a quick thanks to everyone who reviewed or story alerted this, you guys are awesome! Here's chapter two, hope you enjoy!**

**x.x.x**

"Thou wilt rue this woeful error,/Deed of darkness, deed of terror./Why to stay was I beguil'd./He will rue this woeful error"-_Don Giovanni_, Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart

"What the he—" Arthur stumbled backwards into his hotel room, trying to raise his gun.

Eames reached forward and grabbed Arthur's wrist, causing Arthur to drop the gun with a gasp. Eames's hand was icy cold to the point that it almost hurt.

"A gun, really, darling?" Eames asked with a bemused smile. "If a rock didn't work, what makes you think a gun will?"

"But-but-but—" Arthur struggled to form a coherent sentence. "But you were dead!"

Eames followed him into the hotel room, closing and locking the door behind him. "Yes dear, I _was _dead. After you buried me alive my heart stopped and I stopped breathing. But then I woke up again, and I felt very, very good."

"But I killed you. You died," Arthur blurted out.

"Yes, but I came back, Arthur. Just for you," Eames said, and reached forward, pulling Arthur into a kiss.

No no no, this was all wrong! It was Eames but it wasn't Eames. He looked the same, talked the same, tasted the same, but he smelled like dirt and rot and he was covered in that dark earth and he was so cold! Arthur pushed him off with some difficulty and exclaimed, "No, this can't be real!"

"Oh it's very real," Eames said as Arthur fumbled in his pocket for his totem. "You can check all you like, but you'll come to the same conclusion."

Arthur rushed to the desk and threw the die down, watching it tumble until it landed on the exact number it was supposed to. He feverishly picked it up again and tested it in his hand; the weight was perfect.

"No no no, this can't be right," he said, and threw it again. It fell perfectly, and he ran a hand through his hair, his eyes darting quickly around the desk. Eames came over and wrapped his arms around Arthur's waist. "Oh darling, you've really gone to pieces without me, haven't you? You're not even wearing a suit today. Oh, that's why! It's raining, isn't it?"

Arthur shut his eyes tightly, trying to block out Eames's voice. This couldn't be happening. This was a dream, or a hallucination, or something. Maybe he'd caught pneumonia when he was burying Eames and this was all some strange drug-induced dream and he was realty in a hospital somewhere. But Eames felt so real and so cold against his back, and somehow he knew that this was real.

"It is raining," he said in a daze as an answer to Eames.

"And that's why you're dressed like this, isn't it? I know your rain clothes," Eames said, and Arthur could hear the smile in his voice.

Rain turned Arthur into a mess. He wore pajama pants, a loose t-shirt, slippers, and comfy socks. His hair was a mess, not slicked back like it usually was, and there wasn't a piece of a suit in sight.

Eames nuzzled his head against Arthur's shoulder. "Mm, I love it when it rains," he murmured. "I love you when it rains."

Arthur's eyes flashed open and he whipped around, his hand rushing to hit Eames. But Eames caught his wrist in that cold grip and said, "Now that's not very nice, is it darling?"

"You don't love me, you said you didn't love me!" Arthur shouted, trying to pull his hand free.

Eames laughed. "Darling, I didn't mean it. I love you, I've always loved you. I just didn't want to admit that to you when you confronted me because I wanted to make a clean break. You know I love you."

"No, just—leave me alone, let me go!" Arthur said, desperately tugging his arm to try to get Eames to relinquish it. Eames pulled Arthur to his chest and wrapped his arm around him on his other side. Arthur pushed against him but Eames only pulled him closer.

"Eames, let me go!" Arthur protested.

Eames ignored him. "I nearly died, love, aren't you glad to see me?"

"You did die!" Arthur exclaimed. "You died, I know you died!"

He started crying, covering his face with his hands, and Eames folded him deeper into his arms.

"Ca va bien se passer, mon amour. J'taime," Eames whispered.

Arthur shook his head. He used to love it when Eames spoke French to him. Back when Eames was alive. But he was alive! If he wasn't alive, what the hell was he? His first thought was ghost, but ghosts didn't have corporeal forms that could touch people. And even if Eames was rather cold, colder than any living human could be, he was still solid and real against Arthur. Besides, Arthur didn't believe in the supernatural, and if not for the fact that he knew Eames had died, he would have assumed Eames had just fought his way out of the grave. But even then, Eames didn't show any signs of that. Yes he was wearing the same clothes and yes, they were dirty with the earth he'd been buried in but other than that, he looked perfectly healthy.

Arthur suddenly pulled Eames down so he could look at his head. The head wound he'd inflicted was gone.

Eames watched Arthur with an amused look as he examined him. "I'm sorry darling, but what are you looking for?"

"You're not hurt," Arthur said, turning him around just to be sure.

"No, I'm not."

"I hit you with a rock. You had a wound."

"I told you, I woke up feeling excellent," Eames said.

"That doesn't explain how you're magically healed!" Arthur exclaimed.

Eames smiled at his exasperation. "I told you already pet, I died and came back."

"That doesn't—" Arthur threw his hands up, abandoning the effort to explain how completely twisted this whole situation was.

"Honestly darling, you seem a bit put out. I know it's raining, but you could try and show a little enthusiasm for my return. I'm not even upset about you murdering me, I'm more hurt that you don't care that I came back."

Arthur stared at him. "You're not human!" he yelled, and Eames just looked at him unapologetically.

Then he leaned forward and purred, "So what if I'm not? I'm still the same person, just a little bit…different. I still look the same." He kissed Arthur's cheek. "I still speak the same." A kiss on his jaw. "I still act the same." Another on the neck. "I still _feel _the same." He slipped closer to Arthur and kissed his way down his neck, tugging at the edge of Arthur's t-shirt.

"Eames, no," Arthur said, but his voice was weak.

"Shh, darling," Eames whispered, and pulled Arthur's shirt off. His lips were cold against Arthur's throat, but Arthur felt himself begin to flush as Eames's hands slipped lower and lower towards his hips. "Just—let—me—take—care—of it," Eames said, a kiss interrupting each word.

"No…" Arthur murmured, his eyes closing just the same.

With cold, cold lips Eames kissed him slowly, tenderly, and gently led him to the bed.

"Didn't you miss me, pet?" Eames asked, gently pushing Arthur onto the bed and climbing on top of him, his hand slipping between the other man's legs.

Arthur moaned, Eames's breath hot in his ear. "Oh god Eames…"

Eames laughed softly, breathily. "Come on dear, I know you can say it," he said, moving his hand, and Arthur's hips shot up in response.

"Oh god I missed you Eames," he panted, and Eames smiled.

"I know you did," he said, and kissed him, then started to undo his own belt.

Arthur lay awake long into the night, unable to sleep. This was wrong. This whole thing was so very, very wrong. He glanced over at Eames to be sure: the bastard was still sound asleep, pretty and cold even in unconsciousness. So, so wrong. Did this count as necrophilia? But Eames wasn't dead. But he was.

Arthur slipped out of the bed, his head hurting, and went out onto the balcony, pausing to grab his jacket. He closed the sliding glass door behind him and paused to take a breath of the crisp night air. Well, very early morning air. He shivered and pulled on his jacket, taking the pack of cigarettes out of the pocket. One glance back into the room to make sure he was asleep; Eames hated it when he smoked.

Arthur lit a cigarette for himself with his ace of spades lighter and took a drag, closing his eyes. Smoking was one of his few vices, as he no longer drank. He blew the smoke out and took another drag, sweet, sweet smoke filling his lungs. He didn't smoke regularly—usually he only did it when he was stressed, and this was certainly an occasion to be stressed.

Arthur blew out the smoke and opened his eyes, leaning on the railing. What the hell was he going to do? Eames was—undead, for want of a better word, and still carrying on as if everything was normal, as if Arthur hadn't murdered him, as if he hadn't come back to life. He was, essentially, the same, Arthur supposed; his actions were still the same, if somewhat colder, although Eames had almost been back to a normal body temperature when they'd slept together.

And _that _had been fantastic. Probably even better than when Eames was alive, which was saying something, because it had been pretty amazing then. But now there was something different, something that made it all the better. Eames was hungrier, and Arthur had bite marks and scratches left all over his body, some of which still stung.

Arthur shifted his shoulder blade so his jacket wasn't pressing so hard against one of said scratches. His cigarette dangled between his fingers, ash slowly extending from the tip as he thought.

He didn't have any options. Eames had made it clear that he wasn't going anywhere, and Arthur still wasn't sure what his intentions were. He had murdered him, how could he have good intentions? But this was Eames. This was the man who loved him—claimed he loved him—who'd been with him for over a year, who cared about him. But then again, Eames had lied to him already, and he was an excellent con man.

Arthur rubbed his forehead, his head hurting again. He tapped the ash off of his cigarette and took another drag; this was the only keeping him sane right now. He chuckled softly to himself. Who was he kidding, he wasn't sane anymore. He'd probably just had a nervous breakdown and this was some crazy hallucination. And if it was real, then it was amazing that he hadn't had a nervous breakdown yet. Arthur laughed to himself, breathing out smoke, finding this thought funny even though it was really sad. His life had gone to hell in a hand basket in the space of only a few days. Fuck. He ran the hand holding his cigarette over his hair and sighed, then cast a glance through the door again. Eames was still asleep, his arm across where Arthur usually slept.

This Eames was different, but the same. It was all so very confusing. He took another drag, blowing smoke rings out, a trick it'd taken him years to perfect. What was he going to do at work tomorrow? Eames was going to go with him, he was sure of that. He'd left Eames's disappearance unexplained—after all, the man was known to disappear for months or years at a time, not just weeks or days. Besides, the actual extraction wasn't until Sunday, so he was okay. But how was Eames going to act? How different would he be? Would Eames reveal what had happened? No, he was too prudent for that. And if he really loved Arthur, would he do that? No, Arthur didn't think he would. He thought Eames had much more sinister aims in mind.

"Darling, what have I told you?" Eames said, reaching around Arthur to steal his cigarette and put it out on the balcony railing. "You know I hate it when you smoke."

Arthur jumped, whipping around to face Eames as the first few raindrops began to fall. "I thought you were asleep."

Eames smiled. "Yes, but I woke up. Now come back to bed, darling." He pulled Arthur back into the bedroom, shutting and locking the balcony door as the rain began to increase in strength.

Lying awake in bed with Eames's arms around him, Arthur tried to wrap his head around what had happened, but still he couldn't quite grasp it. He wasn't sure if he wanted to, either. Eames sighed in his sleep and shifted closer to Arthur, his skin freezing cold. Whatever happened tomorrow didn't really matter, did it? Eames was changed, but he didn't seem to care about anyone else, just Arthur. And this was the unsettling thought that Arthur closed his eyes to.


	3. Footprints

"For a carousal,/Where all is madness/Where all is gladness,/Do thou prepare"- _Don Giovanni_, Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart

"Look who I found," Arthur said, walking into the abandoned warehouse they were using as base camp.

"Hello," Eames said cheerfully, following Arthur into the room and clapping him on the back.

Arthur swallowed his feelings down and briskly continued to his work table, setting his briefcase down as Ariadne asked, "Eames, where the hell have you been?"

"Around, my dear," Eames answered, hands in his pockets as he smiled at her. "Where's our dear chemist?"

"Visiting Cobb, the compound's finished. Around is not an answer."

"Do you really want to know where I was?"

Arthur's stomach twisted and he forced himself to sit down, clicking open his briefcase.

Ariadne laughed. "No, I guess I don't," she said, and returned to her work. Eames gave her a smile and then slipped past Arthur on his way to his table, his hand lingering on Arthur's shoulder. Arthur stiffened like an angry cat, but then Eames was past and he could relax again. Relax was a relative word, considering he could never relax again when Eames was around. He cast a glance at Ariadne, who was working on her model and humming as if everything was alright. How could she not see it?

Eames caught Arthur's eyes and grinned like the Cheshire Cat. Oh fuck. What was he up to this time?

When Arthur had woken up this morning, he'd found his bed filled with black dirt and Eames in the shower. He'd jumped out of the bed, cursing, and immediately gathered the sheets to shake them out off of the balcony, but no matter what he did, they wouldn't come clean. Finally he'd given up and come back into the room to find Eames—finally clean—wrapped in a towel and searching for another hideous shirt to wear. "Good morning darling," he'd said, giving Arthur a kiss on the cheek, and Arthur had just stared at him. Eames never did that. Not his Eames. His Eames wasn't a morning person, didn't want to be touched in the morning, didn't want to be affectionate.

"What was that?" Arthur had asked, giving him a look.

Eames had smiled. "Am I not allowed to be affectionate to my lovely boyfriend in the morning?"

WHAT. THE. FUCK. To Eames, uttering the word 'boyfriend' was practically a sin. He had never, _ever _used it in reference to Arthur before, even though they'd technically been dating for over a year, and he certainly would never say it of his own free will.

"Excuse me?" Arthur had said, his brow furrowing. "What did you say?"

"Oh darling, please get over yourself. It's just a word," Eames had said, wandering back over to the closet.

Arthur had just added it to his list of things that were different about Eames and went about his business as usual to avoid driving himself insane thinking in circles.

And now he knew Eames was up to no good, he just didn't know what that no good was. He turned back to his desk and stared blankly at his papers: the last thing he wanted to do right now was to look over the details of the extraction yet again, but he had to. He watched the clock as the time stuttered by like a zombie dragging a bad leg and practically bolted out the door when it was time for lunch, leaving Eames and Ariadne behind. He didn't care if Eames was alone with her, he just couldn't stand to be alone with him again, or even just around him anymore. But when he came back in from lunch, Eames was giving him that damn smile again and Arthur shivered.

Suddenly Ariadne threw her arms around Arthur, squealing in delight. Arthur jumped and disentangled himself from her, brow furrowed in confusion. "Um, hello?" he said.

Ariadne was bouncing up and down in place. "Arthur, you didn't tell me that you and Eames were dating!"

Arthur's eyes flashed to Eames, who wore a triumphant smile as he leaned back casually in his chair. "Eames told you?" Arthur asked, looking at Ariadne again.

"Yeah, over lunch," Ariadne said, beaming. "I'm so happy for you guys. Why didn't you tell me earlier?"

Arthur forced a smile as Eames said, "Well Ariadne, you know how secretive Arthur is."

"Right," Arthur said, smiling at Ariadne, and she squealed and hugged him again. Eames chuckled at this, and Arthur shot him a look. Fuck, he really had him now. Eames had just made it infinitely more difficult for Arthur to separate himself from him.

Ariadne continued to animatedly talk at him, but Arthur missed everything she said. He just looked numbly at Eames, who just sat there and smiled at him.

Cobb stopped by later with Yusuf in tow and Ariadne of course immediately outed Arthur and Eames.

Cobb smiled and said, "Finally you two admit you have the sexual tension of Ross and Rachel."

"Didn't they have a kid?" Arthur asked, giving Cobb a look.

"They also had mountains of unresolved feelings and sexual tension," Ariadne said.

Arthur rolled his eyes and turned his attention back to his papers. Eames smiled and said, "And now our darling Arthur's become embarrassed by us, I'm afraid we won't have anymore fun with him."

"I'm not embarrassed," Arthur retorted, but the tops of his ears were red. Eames chuckled from his side of the room. "You're positively adorable, darling."

"Aww!" Ariadne said, and Cobb smiled and shook his head at her.

"Next we'll finally find out that you two are dating," Yusuf said, and Ariadne flushed.

"Alright Yusuf, you win. We are," Cobb said, pulling Ariadne close to him. There was some scattered applause from Yusuf and Eames and a catcall from Eames. Ariadne blushed deeper but she was smiling, and Arthur smiled at the first happy thing he'd seen in awhile.

"I guess that makes you the only single one, Yusuf," Eames said, crossing to Arthur and putting his arm around his waist.

Arthur suppressed a shiver and forced a smile, praying this charade would be over soon. He was starting to feel a little sick, and the dirt and rot smell surrounding Eames wasn't helping.

"Well ha bloody ha," Yusuf said to Eames. "I'd rather be single anyway."

"Of course you would," Eames said with a patronizing smile.

Ariadne laughed. "Honestly Eames, I didn't see you as the monogamous type."

"Oh usually I'm not, my dear, but Arthur has that effect on people," Eames purred. What a fucking liar. Only a few days ago, Eames had died for cheating. If that was monogamy, then Ariadne was a lesbian.

"Well we're all done with work here, why don't we take off and celebrate?" Eames suggested.

"Celebrate what, exactly?" Arthur asked, turning to him with his arms crossed.

He shrugged. "The general announcements of couples. Come on darling, it'll be fun."

"Yeah, that sounds like fun," Ariadne said.

"You guys should go ahead, go find a restaurant or something, Arthur and I are going to go over these plans one more time, I have a question for him," Cobb said, and Ariadne gave him a quick kiss before leaving with Yusuf in tow. Eames kissed Arthur on the cheek, said "Goodbye darling" like a warning, and then followed Ariadne.

Alone, Cobb looked at Arthur with narrowed eyes, his usual calculating stare. Arthur looked calmly back, having been through this routine several times throughout the years he'd known Cobb.

But bored with the staring contest and too irritated for these games Arthur moved first, crossing to Eames's desk to pick up some of the papers left on it.

"Are you alright, Arthur?" Cobb asked, his voice gently breaking the silence.

"I'm fine, Cobb. The extraction will be over tomorrow and everything will be back to normal." Yeah, right.

He could feel Cobb's eyes on his back and he turned, opening his mouth to speak again, but then stopped and whipped his head to look at the path he'd taken to Eames's desk. Covering the ground were neat footprints made out of black dirt and blood. Arthur stared at them, following them all the way back to their source, his Italian leather shoes still on his feet. What the hell was going on?

"Arthur? Arthur?"

Arthur looked at Cobb, who was watching him with concern. "Cobb, is there anything between these two desks?" Arthur asked carefully, gesturing between him and Eames's desks.

Cobb looked between the two desks, puzzled, and then shook his head. "I don't see anything."

"Nothing?" Arthur asked, his eyes wide. He checked just to be sure; the footprints were still there in plain black and red against the white floor, like the Socialist party colors.

"Nothing. Are you alright, Arthur?"

The footprints were starting to swim in front of his vision. "I'm fine, I'm just stressed."

"Okay," Cobb said, doubt in his voice, and Arthur said, "Why don't you go catch up with the others? I'll be there in a minute, I just have to pack up some things."

"Don't work yourself to death, Arthur. You're looking a little pallid."

"It's the stress," Arthur said, turning back to the papers. "And the rain."

Cobb started to say something, but stopped. "I'll see you at the restaurant then."

"See you then," Arthur answered. He waited until he heard the door close and then collapsed, falling against the desk in front of him. Fuck his chest hurt right now. It was difficult to breathe, why had seeing those footsteps felt like getting punched in the gut? Because it reminded him of his guilt so much? Because it reminded him of what he'd done? Or was it just that it reminded him of Eames, that fucking two-faced lying Cheshire Cat who grinned so widely that he could swallow Arthur's voice in one gulp and then spit his lies back out?

Arthur's head swam and he gripped the desk tightly, squeezing his eyes shut. Blood roared in his ears and his heart was pounding, pounding, pounding, but it wouldn't stop, wouldn't leave him alone, wouldn't behave itself.

He thought he felt an icy hand on his back and whipped around, his eyes snapping open. But there wasn't anything there.

"Okay Arthur, calm yourself," Arthur whispered to himself, smoothing his hair back. He fixed his tie, smoothed it down, and adjusted his waistcoat before taking a deep breath and leaving the room.

"Arthur. Arthur dear, wake up."

"Eames, just let me sleep. I need to sleep…" His words trailed off into unintelligible muttering.

"Darling, we're in the car, we haven't even gotten home yet."

Arthur reluctantly opened his eyes a slit and looked out of the darkened windshield of the car, then closed them again. "Then why are you waking me up?"

"Because we're almost there," Eames said, amusement audible in his voice.

Arthur made a strange noise halfway between a moan and an 'mhmm' and the car rolled to a stop. He heard Eames get out and the door slam, and then his door opened a minute later and Eames was helping him out of the car. He made a noise of protest but was too tired to even open his eyes, and allowed himself to be led by Eames in the cool night air. It was only when he heard the crunching of leaves underfoot instead of concrete that he opened his eyes, and was instantly horrified.

"Oh no you don't, darling," Eames said, catching Arthur as he tried to run and forcing him towards the dark clearing Eames had been buried in.

"No no no Eames, please no," Arthur begged, fighting with all he had. It'd been a week since the extraction, and so far it had been like nothing had happened. Everything had gone back to the way it had been before Eames died, and Arthur had been lulled into a false sense of security. Now everything was crashing down on his head.

Eames dragged him to the clearing with iron strength, all the way to the edge of the grave, which looked as if it had been ripped apart from the inside out.

Eames stopped, holding the struggling Arthur as they both looked into the black maw. "It's really only fair, isn't it darling?" he asked. "You did it to me?"

"Please Eames, no," Arthur said, panicking now.

"Au revoire, mon amour," Eames cooed, planting a kiss on Arthur, and then pushed him into the grave.

Arthur hit something wooden and barely had time to turn around before the top was being slammed down and he was trapped in the coffin.


	4. Vow

**AN: Here's chapter four, hope you like it. Thanks once again to all me readers, commenters, story alerters, and etc. Your feedback is much appreciated.**

"Oh, ere thou trust in him, beware/His heart is as cold as stone,/Know that his vows are writ in air,/I their deceit have known" – _Don Giovanni_, Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart

"Eames! Let me out!"

Arthur pounded desperately against the coffin lid, yelling as loudly as he could.

"Eames, please!"

"Be with you in a minute darling, I'm getting the shovel!" Eames called cheerily.

"Oh fuck no," Arthur whispered weakly, then renewed his pounding on the coffin lid. "Eames! Eames!"

Silence outside of the coffin answered him. Arthur tried to kick against the lid, panic beginning to seize him.

"Calm down darling, I haven't even started burying you yet," came Eames's amused tone, and Arthur yelled, "For god's sake Eames, let me out of here!"

There was the sound of a shovel being stuck into the dirt and then a thump as Eames sat down on top of the coffin. "And why on earth would I do that?"

"Because I'm still alive!" Arthur protested weakly, pounding his fist against the coffin once.

"Aha, and so was I when you buried me. I was _moving,_ and you still buried me. If I'm going to kill you, you deserve the same."

Arthur closed his eyes for a second; the coffin was rapidly heating up with stale air. "But why are you killing me? For revenge?"

"Oh no darling, I love you, I don't want to kill you because you killed me. I told you I wasn't mad about that. I'm killing you because you haven't been playing along with me," Eames said, and Arthur opened his eyes, his brow furrowing.

"What do you mean?" he asked.

Eames sighed. "You haven't exactly been warm to me, dear," he whined like a petulant child. "I've been completely affectionate to you and you haven't given me anything in return."

"That's because you're undead!" Arthur cried. "I can't stand you touching me because you're cold and lifeless and dead and—" He stopped, his eyes squeezing tightly shut.

He could almost feel the darkness in Eames's voice as Eames said, "Just because I'm undead doesn't mean you're free from me, love. You're mine until death do us part, and death doesn't seem to want to interfere." This last part was said with a laugh.

Arthur shuddered despite the heat and bit his lip, trying to restrain himself from screaming at Eames that this was all so, so wrong, that the Eames he knew was long dead, that this wasn't him, this wasn't how this worked, this—

"Fine," Arthur said weakly.

"What was that?" Eames asked, poorly hidden glee in his voice.

Arthur closed his eyes again, his head hurting. "Fine," he said, his voice stronger. "You win. I'll play along, behave, whatever, act like you're still—alive. Just let me out of here. Please," he added, his voice begging.

There was a moment of silence, then: "Promise?"

"Yes, I fucking promise, Eames," Arthur said, opening his eyes.

"No need to get snippy about it darling," Eames said, prying open the lid of the coffin. "I just want your word."

Arthur bolted from the coffin, only stopped from running straight for the car by Eames's strong, cold grip on his arms. He smiled and pulled Arthur into a kiss, a freezing cold kiss. Arthur wanted his Eames back so much that he felt his desire burning up inside of him and he found himself kissing back feverishly, fervently, trying urgently to bring warmth back into those dead lips, trying to make the man feel like something, dammit, trying to bring his Eames back from the dead. Eames accepted his kisses hungrily, and they fell, entwined, to feed on opposite desires.

Arthur couldn't sleep. He lay awake once again, petrified to sleep because of the monstrosity next to him. He sat up in bed, rubbing his eyes too hard again, causing white dots to appear in his vision. He desperately needed sleep. It had been getting so bad over the past week—even before he'd been buried alive what? Four hours ago?—that he'd almost started hallucinating, imagining things that weren't there. That explained the footprints. That had to explain the footprints. Arthur's eyes slipped out of focus, and he barely managed the energy to focus them again. If he didn't force himself to sleep soon, he'd just collapse one day, and that was something he definitely didn't want to do around Eames.

He got out of the bed and stumbled to the nearest armchair in the room, feeling behind it to get the case stored there, and put it on the table. He opened it numbly, his brain shouting the singular need for sleep, and then hooked the IV into his arm and depressed the button.

Arthur knew he was dreaming. He knew because this was the memory of when he'd first started seeing Eames, but this was not how it had been. It hadn't been some romantic soiree in an elegant bar after a successful job, it had been a frazzled mess in a diner the morning after a botched extraction when they all thought they were going to die at the hands of their employers and Arthur had bribed the waitress to allow him to bring in a bottle of wine because Eames and Ariadne looked like they needed it and he needed some himself, and Cobb wasn't complaining. The elegant bar changed and Arthur was in that same diner, Cobb seated to his left, Eames directly across from him and Ariadne next to Eames in the booth—well their projections—and everything was the same, with the same glum looks, haunted eyes, and smell of greasy food. But no, it was different, because he had a wine cooler in front of him now and he had had white wine that day because it had been before he'd stopped drinking, before he'd been afraid of intoxication, before the incident with Eames. But this was a dream, so he had a wine cooler and his die fell on random numbers when he threw it and Eames was his Eames but he wasn't and he kept repeating "You look terrible darling" like he had been that day and things were not quite the same as the memory.

Arthur closed his eyes, his brain trying to process too many things at once. There was too much noise and the people next to him were going through stale dialogue he'd heard before, and he knew what Eames would say next.

_I don't mind the sun sometimes_

_The images it shows_

_I can taste you on my lips_

_And smell you in my clothes_

_Cinnamon and sugary_

_And softly spoken lies_

_You never know just how you look_

_Through other peoples' eyes_

"You look terrible, darling."

Arthur opened his eyes to look at Eames, who gave him a half-hearted smile.

"You're so nice to him," Ariadne said, smiling but tired. "I think that's the tenth time you've said that."

"Fifteenth," Arthur said, fulfilling his role in the dialogue.

Eames looked away but his smile grew a little wider, obviously pleased that Arthur had been counting. "You should have already retired, Cobb," he said suddenly, looking at Cobb.

"This was supposed to be the last time," Cobb answered.

"Sentimentality will make you go soft," Arthur said, taking a sip of his wine cooler.

"You're such a mercenary, Arthur," Ariadne said.

Arthur shrugged and Eames said, "Of course he is, Ariadne, his guard always goes up when his life's in danger. In fact, I don't think he ever puts it down."

Cobb shook his head with a smile. "I've known Arthur for a long time, he puts his guard down, just not when people are paying attention."

A smile touched Arthur's lips involuntarily—that was one way to put it. Eames caught his gaze and smiled warmly, and Arthur found himself smiling back, just like he had that day. They were all in danger of dying anyway, why not let his armor slip a little bit? The conversation turned again and Eames resumed talking to Cobb, Arthur inserting his lines when necessary. He knew that soon Cobb and Ariadne would leave and he would be alone with his Eames again, and everything would be as perfect as it had been that day.

_They were all in love with dying_

_They were doing it in Texas_

_They were all in love with dying_

_They were doing it in Texas_

_They were all in love with dying_

_They were doing it in Texas_

Arthur looked around the diner with his brow furrowed as the music skipped; this wasn't part of the memory. Suddenly the room grew dark and it started to rain as the music changed.

_I can't use what I can't abuse_

_And I can't stop when it comes to you_

Arthur turned back to the table and realized simultaneously that Cobb and Ariadne were gone and that Eames had changed clothing. Before, he'd had on the same hideous shirt and suit as he had on that day, but now he looked sleek in a black silk shirt, gray vest and white tie.

"You look terrible, darling," Eames said with a soft smile.

"As do you," Arthur answered, and took a sip of his wine cooler. He immediately spat it back onto the table; the bottle was filled with blood. "What the hell…" He looked at Eames, who wore the same smile as before, unperturbed by Arthur's experience. Disturbed, Arthur pushed the bottle away from himself and pulled Cobb's abandoned wine over, refilling it from the wine bottle. As he took a sip of it, the alcohol sweet on his tongue, Eames said, "I thought you didn't drink anymore, darling."

Arthur froze, the wine glass still pressed to his lips. Oh fuck no. He set the glass down, retaining his grip on it to stop his hand from shaking.

"Eames…"

Eames's smile slipped from warmth into darkness. "Yes dear?"

"What the fuck are you doing in my dream." It came out too flat to be a question.

"Well darling, you left the case lying out in the open and I thought I'd stop in and see what you were dreaming about." His smile widened. "I'm so glad to see it was me."

"It wasn't about you, it was about—" Arthur gasped as the wine glass broke in his hand, sharp shards of glass cutting his fingers and drawing blood. He hadn't realized the angry pressure he'd been applying to it.

"Oh darling," Eames said, taking Arthur's hand in his own cold, pale ones. He slowly kissed each one of Arthur's fingers, sucking the blood off, and Arthur shivered and pulled away. But Eames refused to relinquish his grip.

He kissed Arthur's palm softly, tenderly, and then intertwined his hands with Arthur's more lithe one, all the while looking at Arthur with intensity in his gaze. "You can't kiss it and make it better, Eames. It doesn't work with cuts and it doesn't work with our relationship," Arthur said coldly. The more Eames played with his hand the more twisted his stomach felt.

"There's nothing wrong with our relationship," Eames stated flatly. "Or rather there wouldn't be if you just cooperated with me."

Arthur looked away from him, biting his lip, and shook his head.

"You know it's true," Eames said.

"No," Arthur said, eyes flashing as he looked at Eames again. "You are _dead_. There is no relationship anymore."

"Clearly I'm not if I'm still here."

Arthur's hand twisted so he had a grip on Eames's wrist, fingers to the inside of it, feeling for a pulse. They both waited in breathless silence for a minute, and then Arthur released Eames's hand, saying, "Clearly you are if you don't have a pulse."

"Then what am I, Arthur? You have a logical mind, how does it cope with this?"

"It—It doesn't. I don't know." Arthur ran a hand over his hair, fighting the urge to begin violently cleaning the table.

Eames studied him for a minute and then, his lips twisting into a smile, took the bottle of wine and poured it onto the table. Arthur gripped the edge of the Formica top, his knuckles white.

"You desperately want to clean that up, don't you darling? It's driving your neurosis crazy," Eames said, smiling at Arthur, and Arthur glanced back at him.

"Fuck you."

"If you're up for it."

Arthur gave him a look and then carefully took his hands off the table, focusing on fixing his cufflinks so he wouldn't drive himself crazy looking at the mess of the table. Being under pressure in a situation like this, especially when Eames was involved, made his OCD and neurotic side come out in full force.

"Come on darling, you know you want to clean the table. It's okay if you do it."

"No it's not, I'd be proving you right."

Eames shook his head with a smile. "You mean when I said you can't control yourself and you need to be taught otherwise?" He reached for Arthur and Arthur immediately shrank back into the booth. Eames smirked. "Still afraid of our last lesson, aren't we darling?"

"That wasn't a fucking lesson, it was torture!" Arthur exclaimed. He pressed both of his hands to his forehead, his elbows on the table. He was literally shivering, and not just because of the icy cold in the diner. Eames terrified him.

"It was a lesson in controlling yourself when it came to alcohol," Eames said, "and you learned from it, didn't you? You haven't touched anything harder than a wine cooler in almost a year."

Arthur's fists clenched but he refused to look at Eames. "And we almost broke up because of it. And you…what you did…" His nails were starting to draw blood from his hands. "And it wasn't right, what the hell gave you the right to control me like that?"

Eames flashed him a smile. "You're mine. You agreed to that when you stayed with me through everything, even my unsavory appetites. And I tried to be better. Why do you think I cheated?"

"Because you're a lying asshole."

"No, love, because I knew I would be too much for you to handle alone, so I found other people who could share part of the burden." Eames's voice had grown soft, and when Arthur dared to look at him, he looked—well, human. Arthur removed his head from his hands and sat back in the booth, giving Eames a calculating look. No no, he couldn't have any hope, in this twisted dream or in the real world it was too much to hope. But when Eames smiled at him he looked like _his _Eames, not the beast that had come back from the grave. And when Eames leaned forward across the table, leaning on his forearms with an affectionate smile, Arthur couldn't help the small smile that touched his lips. Eames pulled Arthur into an identical position to his own, retaining Arthur's hands, and then leaned over the table and kissed him.

And it was warm and soft and kind and great and perfect and Arthur leaned deeply into it, feeling like he was home. But then the lights went out and he pulled away and suddenly Eames was nothing and there were maggots in Arthur's mouth and he couldn't breathe and—

The lights came back on and everything was back to normal. Arthur shoved Eames away and sat back in the booth, his chest heaving.

"You're a monster," he breathed.

Eames smiled and took a sip of his wine. "And your point is?" he asked lazily.

Arthur shakily reached into his discarded suit jacket and pulled out his silver cigarette case and lighter, taking out a cigarette and lighting it. The first drag was like heaven.

Eames watched Arthur closely as he took another drag and blew the smoke out, indulging in the one stress reliever left to him. "What have I told you about smoking?" he asked Arthur.

"Fuck you," Arthur responded, blowing smoke rings. "We're in a dream, I'm not afraid of you."

Eames looked at him for a minute, eyes blank, and then plunged his hand into Arthur's chest.

_You burn and burn to get under my skin_

_You've gone too far now I won't give in_

_You crucified me but I'm back in your bed_

_Like Jesus Christ coming back from the dead_

Arthur screamed, Eames's hand reaching deeper into his chest until he pulled his heart out with a tearing sound. He thunked the heart onto the plate in front of him and then reached into his own chest, pulling his heart out. He dropped it in front of Arthur, who stared at him with hollow eyes, horrified.

"Eat," Eames said, and then picked Arthur's heart up and took a bite out of it.

Arthur stared at him in numb shock, his brain shutting down. He placed a hand on his chest and _yes_, there was a giant hole where his heart should have been. Eames was now ferociously taking bites out of his heart, licking his lips as he cast a glance at Arthur.

"_Eat_," he demanded, and guided Arthur's numb hands to his own still beating heart. Arthur looked at Eames's heart in his hands, pounding softly even though Eames's real heart no longer beat. Eames tipped Arthur's hands up gently, making Arthur raise the heart to his lips and slowly take a bite.

The heart tasted like raw, rotting meat, and blood, and Arthur gagged and nearly spat it back out. But Eames was watching him to make sure he ate it so he swallowed and took another bite. Eames resumed eating Arthur's heart, and they ate in silence for a few minutes, Arthur resisting the urge to vomit. Finally he had to drop the heart, a wave of nausea rolling through him, and Eames stopped eating, looking at him with the sly eyes of a cat. "Is there a problem, darling?" he asked, voice falsely polite.

Arthur looked at his bloody hands, neatly folded atop the table. "I can't…" he whispered weakly, afraid to look at Eames. "I just want to wake up."

"Then why did you create a dream for yourself?"

"I wasn't thinking, I haven't slept in weeks, days…"

"Darling, we're just living off of love here, aren't we?" Eames asked, gesturing at the hearts, and Arthur looked up at him—his smile was goading Arthur.

"Fuck you," Arthur said through gritted teeth, and grabbed a knife off the table and thrust it into his chest.

Eames started laughing as Arthur pulled the knife out, still in the dream. "Oh sweetheart," he said, his eyes sparkling with laughter, "you didn't really think that would work, did you? I have your heart."

Arthur stared at him for a second, mouth slightly open. "And I have yours," he said, and stabbed Eames's heart with the knife. Eames screamed and reached across the table for him but slipped away from him, plunging the knife into the heart repeatedly until Eames shuddered and fell still, stretched across the table. Arthur sat in stunned silence for a minute, breathing heavily. Then suddenly the diner began shaking, things started falling, and he woke up as Eames ripped the IV out of his arm.


	5. Drink Me

**WARNING: THIS CHAPTER CONTAINS RAPE AND VIOLENCE. IT IS RATED M.**

**So I finally finished this, sorry it's so late, I had a near fatal case of writer's block and I'm still not happy with it. Hopefully you'll enjoy it. Thanks again to all of my readers! Especially those of you who review, it is very much appreciated.**

"All around so dark and lonely,/O'er my heart a fear is stealing,/Such a tremor, past all concealing,/As if death itself were near" – _Don Giovanni_, Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart

Eames tore Arthur out of the chair and threw him up against the wall, Arthur's head banging into it and dazing him. He struggled back weakly but Eames pinned his arms next to his head, his steely strength effortlessly holding his lover back. He'd gotten a lot stronger since his death.

Arthur kneed him in the stomach and Eames bent forward, winded, but didn't release him. "Darling," he said breathlessly, his voice devoid of affection, "don't even fucking toy with me."

"Eames, let go of me," Arthur demanded, bucking against Eames' hands, and Eames slammed his weight against him to make him stop, causing Arthur to cry out slightly.

"You wait your turn," Eames hissed. "Adults are speaking now."

"You're much more of a child than I am," Arthur wheezed before Eames pressed his forearm to his windpipe, effectively cutting off his air supply.

As Arthur gasped for air underneath his arm, Eames said, "You're getting me quite shirty darling and you really don't want to do that. I'm already going to have to teach you a lesson on control again, as much as I loathe to do it."

Arthur was beginning to choke and Eames released him, allowing him to gulp in deep breaths again. "I didn't—lose—control," Arthur insisted between breaths. "I didn't—clean—the table."

Eames paused for a minute, considering his words, and Arthur took the opportunity to punch him in the face, knocking him back for long enough for Arthur to reach the door. But Eames snarled and tore him away from it, grabbing him by his hair and knocking his head against the door. Dazed by the white dots in his vision, Arthur elbowed Eames in the ribs and broke away from him again, this time turning to fight him instead of making a break for it. Eames reached for him and Arthur clawed his eyes, causing Eames to yelp and swing a wild fist that connected, painfully, with Arthur's jaw. Arthur stumbled backwards into the wall and Eames advanced on him, pinning him to it with his knee between Arthur's legs and Arthur's wrists pinned by his hands. Just to make sure he stayed down, Eames pulled back his fist and swung it into Arthur's eyes, knocking the other man momentarily unconscious. There was a spell of silence in which they were both breathing heavily, the skirmish exhausting them.

Arthur started to speak but Eames pressed his knee upward, causing Arthur to stop with a cry of pain.

"You just keep getting worse and worse, darling," Eames said, his eyes dark. "I don't know what to do with you anymore, you're losing all control."

Arthur spoke carefully. "I haven't lost control. I was defending myself. And I didn't clean that fucking table."

Eames looked at him for a long moment, eyes glittering furiously. "Fine," he said, removing his knee, and led Arthur by his elbow and tossed him into an armchair. He grabbed a bottle from a cabinet and tossed it to Arthur, who caught it and looked at him with wide eyes when he realized it was a bottle of whiskey. "Drink," Eames commanded.

"What?"

"I said drink. You didn't lose control in the dream, fine. You'll certainly lose control after you drink that."

Arthur stared at him. "I'm not going to drink so you can torture me!" he exclaimed.

Eames hit the arms of the chair and Arthur jumped, then recoiled as Eames leaned closer to him. "You're going to drink that entire bloody bottle with me, Arthur, or so help me God I will bury you back in that coffin and leave you there."

"You wouldn't."

"Do you really want to take a chance on that, love?"

Arthur remained silent and Eames crossed to the bathroom, returning a minute later with two small plastic cups in his hands. He set them down on the table and took the bottle of whiskey from Arthur, pouring equal amounts of it into the two cups and handing one to Arthur.

"Cheers," he said, knocking the cups together, and waited to drink until he'd made sure Arthur drank his in one gulp. Then he swallowed his and refilled both cups.

"Eames, this is crazy," Arthur said after the third burning cup.

Eames had sat down in the armchair across from him, eyes intently watching his lover as he sipped his own whiskey. "No darling, this is right."

"Then your definition of right is shot to hell."

"I'm sorry darling, then what's your definition of right? Burying your lover alive because they cheated on you? Clearly you're the sane one."

Arthur's jaw clenched. "You lied to me, you cheated on me, and you fucking ripped my heart apart—" He stopped, his voice breaking, and continued a minute later when it was strong again. "And even before then, what you did to me for my intoxication that night was wrong. You can't arbitrarily decide that I need to control myself. You do not control me."

"Darling, I've controlled you since that day in the day."

"Bull fucking shit."

There was a moment of silence in which their eyes connected, and Eames looked away first.

"Drink," he ordered, and Arthur swallowed the next cupful of fire.

"What's your goal here?" Arthur asked after two more drinks, when his vision was beginning to blur just a bit.

"What do you mean?" Eames asked. He was lighting Arthur's secret cigarettes one by one and letting them burn to ash in the ashtray.

"What do you hope to accomplish by putting me through this again?"

Eames lit another match and touched it to the tip of a new cigarette. The end of the cigarette flared to life and he put it atop the small mountain of ash collected in the tray. "To reestablish your binding chains."

"To bind me to you," Arthur stated, and Eames dipped his head.

"And to make sure you know who you belong to," he said quietly, watching the cigarette burn.

"I may have once belonged to you, but I don't anymore. I don't play with dead things."

"Last night's tryst disagrees with you. Not to mention the past few weeks."

"That—that was different," Arthur said, looking away from him. "I wanted the real Eames back."

"Then who do you think I am?"

Arthur's eyes flashed to his. "A monster."

Eames locked gazes with him. "Drink," he said again, and Arthur obeyed.

The already deep night grew darker and Arthur lost count of how many cups of whiskey he'd had. His words were starting to slur together and Eames was almost finished burning his cigarettes.

"Can I have one of those?" Arthur asked, his vision slipping out of focus.

Eames chuckled. "That would defeat the purpose, darling."

"You're already going to punish me for something you're forcing me to do, so why not let me actually do something to get in trouble?" Arthur asked thickly, his mouth numb with alcohol.

"Fine," Eames said, and handed Arthur one of the last two cigarettes. He lit it for him as he said, "But I would have had to teach you this lesson anyway darling, since you had the ultimate slip in control the day you killed me."

Arthur leaned back, taking a drag on his cigarette. "What do you mean?" he asked as Eames lit the remaining cigarette for himself and took a drag.

"You lost control when you found out I was cheating on you and then killed me," Eames said, his words coming out with tendrils of smoke clinging to them.

"That wasn't me losing control. My fury was a normal reaction to finding out that a) your partner is cheating on you and b) that they don't really love you."

"Darling, most people don't murder their significant other when they're found cheating on them. Hit them, hurt them, divorce them, scream at them, yes. Kill them? No," Eames said, his eyes betraying the malice behind his smile. "I would call your actions the ultimate loss of control."

"Oh, and cheating on me was such a controlled action," Arthur said brazenly, the alcohol making him bold.

The hand holding Eames's cigarette twitched. "I did that because I knew I was too much for you to handle."

"Bullshit. You wanted to cheat."

"No, I love you and I always have. But my—appetites are too much for you to handle alone," Eames said, and took a drag on his cigarette. "And I knew you wouldn't understand that. So I lied."

Arthur shook his head, taking another drag. "I don't believe you."

Eames scoffed. "It doesn't matter if you believe me or not, dear. I'm in control here," he said, smiling steadily at Arthur. "And soon you won't have enough control left to disagree with me."

Arthur's vision blurred but he fixed his gaze on Eames as he said, "I hate you."

Almost imperceptibly, Eames flinched. Arthur smirked around his cigarette. "You don't mean that," Eames said, his eyes returning to ice. "You love me."

"Correction, I did love you. I don't love you like this." Alcohol had made his tongue slippery and the words flowed far too easily. "I don't love the monster that clawed its way out of the grave to be with me. That is not my Eames. You will never be my Eames again."  
>Eames looked at him, eyes seething. "Well you'd better fix that philosophy soon, love, because I still love you, and I'm staying with you."<p>

"You don't love me. You're—" He stopped, struggling to find the right word.

"Obsessed?"

Arthur nodded.

"That's all love is, isn't it? The total fixation on one and one alone? The ultimate obsession?" Eames said, and took a drag on his cigarette.

"No," Arthur said. "Love is the ultimate feeling of attraction and caring for a person. At least, romantic love is." He took a drag and blew out his careful smoke rings. "And you don't deserve that from me anymore."

"It's not a question of what I deserve, it's a question of what I can force out of you."

"You going to force me to love you?"

"Exactly."

Arthur started giggling. In a haze of whiskey this struck him as hilarious, and he threw his head back in his chair and kept laughing, unable to stop himself.

Eames calmly tapped the ash off of his cigarette, replacing it in his mouth once he was done and picking up the bottle of whiskey again. He unscrewed the cap and poured more into Arthur's cup as Arthur, oblivious, continued to laugh. A thought crossed his mind and Eames smiled to himself for a second, lungs full of smoke, and then exhaled as Arthur began to come down again.

He hiccupped and grinned at Eames, who smiled and said, "Drink." Arthur whined and Eames said, "This is the last time, darling. So drink." He held out the cup to Arthur, who reluctantly took it and, smile gone, drained it.

He swayed a little in his chair, dizzy, and fell back into it when he tried to stand. He tried again and stumbled, his vision sliding to the left.

"Arthur, where do you think you're going?" Eames asked, lazily watching him stumble.

"I'm gonna—going to get some fresh air," Arthur insisted, putting his hand on the armchair to steady himself.

"Arthur, lie down on the bed."

Arthur closed his eyes and shook his head, taking two stumbling steps towards the door, his hand along the wall.

"Arthur." A pause and a sigh. "Darling, come here."

The tone was softer and Arthur opened his eyes and went to Eames, falling to his knees in front of him like a scared child. Eames tapped the ash off of his cigarette and said, "Give me your arm."

"No, not this," Arthur whined, holding his arms close to his chest.

"Arthur," Eames said calmly, "give me your arm or it will be much worse."

Arthur hesitantly put out his arm and Eames instantly pulled it forward. He quickly rolled Arthur's sleeve up, and, in one seamless motion, took his own cigarette out of his mouth and put it on Arthur's arm. Arthur let out a scream that Eames quickly suppressed with his hand, whispering calming words. Arthur bit his hand and Eames released him with a cry of pain.

"You bastard!" Arthur exclaimed, examining the wound.

"What, did you think there wouldn't be any repercussions for your smoking?"

"You let me smoke!"

"You said you wanted to 'deserve your punishment'. I never said you wouldn't get a new one."

Arthur stared at him. "You're sadistic."  
>"It's all irrelevant anyway, we haven't even started your real punishment yet," Eames said, and threw him a Cheshire Cat smile. "Get on the bed, darling."<p>

"Eames, please, no," Arthur begged, his brave demeanor slipping. "Please, not again, please please please please…" His pleading dissolved into sobs and his head fell against Eames' knees. Eames leaned forward and smoothed Arthur's hair repeatedly in a soothing motion and said, "I'm sorry we have to do this again darling but you apparently didn't learn your lesson the first time."

"I'm sorry, I'm so so-sorry," Arthur sobbed, his breath hitching in his throat. Eames' touch at the back of his neck was too cold to be calming and it made him shiver. He turned his head to the side so he could peer up at Eames. "Eames, you don't have to do this."

Eames's gaze was ice and glass as he said, "Yes I do." He pushed Arthur off of his lap and Arthur stood, knowing what the next words would be; "Now go to the bed."

Arthur shook his head. "You don't control me," he said.

"Yes, I do, you're mine," Eames thundered, standing up. Arthur fell back from him as he advanced, yelling, "You belong to me!"

He pulled Arthur up by his wrists and threw him onto the bed, taking off his own jacket and climbing on top of Arthur in seconds. He had Arthur undressed and his own pants undone quickly and thrust harshly into Arthur with no warning or preparation, causing Arthur to let out a scream that he quickly bit back. He made a move away from Eames and Eames pulled him back, raking his nails across Arthur's skin for good measure, leaving angry red cuts and just barely drawing blood. "Eames please, stop, please just stop I was wrong please—" Arthur's pleading was cut off by a cry as Eames bit into his flesh, intending to draw blood this time. "Do you love me yet, Arthur?" Eames panted, thrusting deeper. Arthur's blood had made his thrusts easier but they hadn't lessened the pain any and Arthur whimpered, his eyes squeezing shut tightly. But Eames pulled him back by his hair so he was forced to open his eyes, and once again Eames asked, "Do you love me?" "Yes, just please, stop," Arthur sobbed, his body shaking. Eames just thrust into him harder, intent on destroying him completely, and just kept asking, "Do you love me? Do you love me? Do you love me?" "Yes I love you!" Arthur screamed as Eames shoved fiercely into him and climaxed. Arthur panted and sobbed, barely able to breath. He wished more than anything that this would be the end of it, that Eames was done with him now, but he knew it was far from over, and this suspicion was confirmed as Eames climbed off of him and said, "Now get on your knees." And by the end, he was reduced to little more than a mass of pleas and begging, trapped in Eames's cold, bloody embrace, answering the same question over and over again.

"I love you."


	6. Finale

"Such is the end of the evildoer: the death of a sinner always reflects his life" –Don Giovanni, Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart

"Arthur!"

Arthur looked up, having been completely oblivious to Ariadne's presence in front of him. "What?" he asked.

"I've been trying to get your attention for the past ten minutes, are you okay?" she asked, concerned. "You look sick."

Arthur looked worse than sick. His skin was powder white and coated in a slight sheen of sweat, he was thin almost to the point of emaciated, and his usually meticulous hair and suit had become rumpled and disheveled. It'd been what, a month? More? Since Eames had taken back his control of him.

"Arthur is sick," Eames said, placing his hand on Arthur's shoulder. "All this rain has had an adverse effect on him. I think you should go home for the day, darling."

"Okay," Arthur said numbly. He didn't disagree with Eames anymore. He didn't dare.

"I'll drop him off at the hotel, Ariadne, and then come back here to finish up my work. He'll feel better when he's had some rest."

"Okay," Ariadne agreed, her brow still furrowed in concern, and Arthur didn't even respond as she said goodbye to him as he left with Eames.

"You really need to get some sleep, darling, I can't have you dying on me," Eames said, closing the door to the hotel room. Arthur stood still inside the room, staring fixedly at the wall. "I'll try," he answered, and felt Eames wrapping his arms around his waist from behind, his lips going to his ear.

"I need you to stay healthy, love," he whispered, and shivers went down Arthur's spine. "I'm not done with you yet."

Arthur couldn't even gather the energy to disagree with him. He was so tired…

"So, I was thinking," Eames said, turning Arthur around to unbutton his waistcoat, "I don't think we're as close as we could be." The waistcoat came off, followed by the tie. "So, perhaps, we could get married."

Arthur's heart stopped. No. NO. NO NO NO NO NO NO—but he didn't speak, allowing Eames to unbutton his shirt.

"Arthur?"  
>"That's a great idea."<br>A smile. "I thought so. Try to show some enthusiasm, love."

Arthur began to undress Eames, his movements mechanical, and Eames pulled off his shirt before taking off his own jacket. "Feeling better, love?" he asked as he led Arthur to the bed.

"Of course," Arthur said, laying down obediently, and Eames paused, hanging over him. "What?" he asked the monster, the pause making him uncomfortable. He'd rather he'd just get it over with so he could sleep and Eames would leave him be.

"Kiss me," Eames said, and Arthur obeyed. As he pulled back Eames frowned and said, "No, this isn't quite right." He rolled them both over, forcing Arthur to straddle his hips, and said, "That's better. I'd rather you work for it, darling." He smirked and Arthur wanted to kill him again, wanted to bury him back in that grave, this time for good, but instead he swallowed down his revulsion and his hatred and leant down to kiss Eames, his entire body shaking slightly. Then his lips went to Eames's neck, and Eames smiled and said, "I love you, darling."

"I love you too."

It was much later when Eames finally left, promising to be back in a short time and ordering him to sleep in the meantime. Arthur finally let his body relax when the hotel door was shut, new scratches and bitemarks covering his already scarred skin, pain sunken into his very bones. He couldn't live like this. He was too tired to sleep, to hurt to feel his pain, too dead to care about living. But Eames was the dead one. Eames was dead. Dead. No, because he'd just left. He was a monster now, but he was still alive in some twisted way and seemed intent on turning Arthur's life into an eternity of torment and pain, constant penance for his crime. He'd paid enough for it already, hadn't he?

And now Eames wanted to marry him. Fuck. It was more a symbolic gesture than anything, as Arthur would never be able to escape him anyway, but it would make it even harder for him to pull away from Eames, and even easier for Eames to pull him closer. He couldn't do this anymore. He couldn't live like this, not like this, no. Fuck no. But what else could he do? He couldn't kill Eames again, that would almost certainly not work. So...he could kill himself?

Yes, that was it. He'd kill himself. If he was dead, Eames couldn't have him anymore. He would come home to find a corpse in the place of his victim, all of his plans for him ruined. Arthur laughed to himself. Of course. This was the only thing Eames couldn't control. He could bully him, he could abuse him, he could rape him, but he couldn't stop him from killing himself. Arthur got up, pulling on his pants in a hurry and then throwing on a shirt. His revolver was still in the closet where he'd left it, loaded and everything. Eames knew he had no reason to fear Arthur shooting him after he'd dominated him once again, so he'd let it be. Oh, but he shouldn't have. Arthur got the gun and turned the safety off, sitting in one of the room's armchairs. Should he leave a note? But why? There'd be no doubt as to why he'd killed himself, but at the same time, he wanted to brag to Eames, wanted to gloat about the fact that he'd beaten him in the only way he had left. He grabbed the hotel notepad and quickly scribbled down two words; 'You lose'. And then he put the gun in his mouth and pulled the trigger.

Arthur woke up with a start to find himself in one of the armchairs, an IV in his arm and Eames across from him, smiling at him with Arthur's gun in his hand.

"W-What?" Arthur stuttered out, shocked.

"Darling, you didn't think it'd be that easy, did you? I knew you were going to think of this soon, and so I just put you into a dream. I'm not letting you go that easily."

"But—my totem," Arthur said, and Eames smirked, standing up.

"I've slept next to you almost every night for the past year and a half. Did you honestly think I didn't know exactly what your totem looked and felt like?"

And Arthur felt a wave of despair crash over him in the most frightening way, his heart stopping. "No," he said. "No, I have to get out, I can't do this. I can't—"

He buried his head in his hands, and Eames knelt down in front of him and moved his hands away from his face. "Look at me, darling," he said, and when Arthur did he said, "Let me be understood now. I will never, ever let you go. I am going to swallow your hope until the day you die, in pain and weeping, and then I'll follow you into the afterlife. You're mine, dear, forever."

And he kissed him, his cold, dead lips against Arthur's living, warm ones, and Arthur knew the truth behind his words.


End file.
